


Together or not at all

by pouringmorning



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance, includes river and doctor actually talking about manhattan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26212426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pouringmorning/pseuds/pouringmorning
Summary: The last time River saw him was Manhattan. And it doesn't matter how long ago it happened, they still need to make things right.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/River Song
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Together or not at all

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Вместе или никак](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26212384) by [pouringmorning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pouringmorning/pseuds/pouringmorning). 



> as this is a translation, if you find any mistakes, please, let me know.

It's been only three days out of twenty four years. The Doctors expects them (and he has his reasons) to end too quickly, to sneak away from his hands like any other good thing, but for now they manage to make days humany slow. There are still all those unspoken plans lying ahead of them such as renovating the new house, bought yesterday, adding a hundred little things into it and writing their story all over space, and talking about everything that's been bothering them for centuries, and apologizing for every time they didn't and lost each other in a timestream, and kissing slowly in the evenings.

River's sleeping, curled in blankets. The Doctor completely understands how silly it is of him to sit in the bedroom even now, afraid to move too loudly and wake her up. But he doesn't have the strength to be apart from River just yet; it's been a thousand years without her, and the Doctor hopelessly missed his wife every day when she wasn't there. Maybe, they need time to stop holding onto every second together like crazy, and to forget their fears. Later. He was sure of losing her for too long, just as River did.

So the Doctor makes himself comfortable and silently reads in the corner of their bedroom. There's a little fireplace with cracking fire by his side; pages are lightened by it. He keeps stealing glances at River's golden curls, shining under the light of a bedside lamp. A couple of hours pass like this — an amount of sleep which is just fine for him and only half of a time that River usually needs. So he raises his head, surprised when she moves. He holds the page with his finger and anxiously observes their bed only to find out that his first thought was a right one: River flinches again, squeezing the bedsheets.

He freezes like an idiot, desperately remembering what to do. Once River's nightmares became the reason of his wary sleep, especially when she became younger. Now he isn't sure if this him will be able to find the right words. 

She flinches again, and he acts before thinking. The book is cast aside on the armchair, and he's by the bed, catching River's hand and caressing her cheek. He calls her quietely, and that's enough; she sits abruptly, almost bumping into the Doctor, and looks right throught him. Her stare is clouded with pain and a such well-known guilt that it scares him as well.

"River?" he sits at the edge of the bed carefully and takes her hand again.

Her breathing is loud and unsteady. She clenches his hand and runs another over her face, then looking back slightly lighter. "All good," she replies huskily. "Thank you, honey."

The Doctor frowns: _liar._

Letting the memory of long-gone nights guide him, he pulls River close, putting his arm around her waist and hiding his face in her hair. He whispers over and over that they're okay, and that she's safe; River never told anything about her nightmares but they were always easy to guess. The Doctor knew her even when he haven't known her past yet, as if the words she needed were carved in his head. And they always helped.

They still do; River stops clenching his fingers fiercily and her knuckles are no longer white. But her shoulders remain tense, as if she's holding back emotions. She is, probably; _'when one's in love with an ageless god, they do their best to hide the damage,'_ she said once, and the Doctor never forgot and never reminded her either because of the events that followed that day. They've barely spent any time together after Manhattan.

"River," he repeats hoarsely, because he won't let her consider this stupid idea right any longer. "River, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing, really," she insists, raising herself to nuzzle into his neck and then to kiss his cheek. "I'm fine. It's just a nightmare, and it doesn't matter." She tries to smile and slip away, chanting about midnight breakfast and tea. The Doctor can see perfectly that her green eyes are still dull and refuses to understand why can't she just let him in. Probably, that's why his next words sound sharper than he intended.

"You are not okay, and I'm capable of noticing it. I'm not an idiot, wife."

River snorts. "Arguable. I believe I have a long list of arguments on that one."

"Talk to me," he asks, still holding her hand and caressing her spine soothingly. She's full of doubt and scared. It's easy to understand, not for a stranger, of course, but it's easy for _him._ He always notices. "You were always there, when I needed it," he convinces her cautiously. "Let me return the favor, dear."

"You're wrong," she corrects. "Last time I saw you, I fled when you needed me."

Out of all the Doctor's mistakes, made after Manhatten, River decided to remember her own. He tenderly touches her cheek, lifting her gaze. It's hard to see such love and devotion from someone — from his wife — again. He chokes on it.

"And I did nothing to make you stay," he shakes his head, remembering their detachment, helplessness, and hiding after losing Ponds. "But now we can make things right." There's a pause. River doesn't say anything, so he caresses her cheek and asks again, "Talk to me, River."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes. I promise."

She turns to face him and glances at their intertwined hands awkwardly. He tries to recall if they've ever done something like this before and realises they didn't. So it's new and scary, and for the first time both of them aren't fond of this kind of adrenaline. He silently looks at River, trying to express at least some of his feelings for her with the look.

"I dream of... I dream of that graveyard on Manhattan." She takes a breath. The hardest part os over. "It's logical, if you think about it."

The Doctor nods. "You miss your parents and friends. That's okay. I miss them, too." He raises her hand to his lips, willing to comfort her. "That matters."

River shakes her head negative, and he refuses to believe she's about to deny that again. He clicks his tongue, but River stops his already born tirade, touching his arm. "That isn't the reason," she explains.

He frowns, trying to understand.

"Damn," she sighs. "Because it was my fault, Doctor. Haven't the thought crossed your mind?"

"No," he replies instantly.

"I thought we're having an honest conversation, sweetie," she glares. Her ability to turn to rage in a matter of seconds isn't something he should admire, but he does anyway.

"I'm not lying," he stresses. "The answer's no. What even makes you think so?"

"It was me who convinced Amy not to stay," River recounts, "I wrote the damn book, I was the first to end up there and the first to chase the Angels. _All of it was me_."

The Doctor eyes her with a sincere wonder, forgetting the fear. If Manhattan was somebody's fault, then it was his. He never blamed River for anything. She's brilliant, brave, and amazing, though prefers different words to describe herself. There's nothing she could do to make him question her.

"You've done nothing wrong."

"Bear with me, honey," she snorts, "I need to add to the 'Why my husband is an idiot' list."

He bends his brows indignantly, and it evokes a real smile of hers, making him a little bit proud of himself. "River," he calls firmly and catches her gaze. "Manhattan is a fixed point. We fixed it ourselfs. All four of us."

Saying 'four of us' again is just as strange as being with River again. Semiforgotten feeling of unity with Ponds stings in his eyes and clenches the hearts, but he dosen't let himself fall into destructive mourning this time. His relationship with Amy and Rory was the same as River's: friends and family. It was easier to keep running, forgetting the sadness. He's never expected that River would be unable to do the same thing.

Recalling her words, he tries to be convincive enough. "Even if you begged Amy to stay like I did, she would still follow Rory. There were times I didn't know that," he admits, "but even then I didn't blame you. And you were right as always."

"Are you sure?" she asks; her voice's teasing and hungry at the same time.

"I'm sure, darling. Love is promise, and that's why Amy would always choose to follow Rory. _Together or not at all._ You would choose to follow me, too."

River's eyes are shining when she nods. Smiling softly, he kisses her knuckles again.

"And I would always follow you."

She freezes, wide-eyed, and the Doctor reaches out and brushes her hair away from her face. She's still on the verge of tears, but shoulders and spine are relaxed this time, face exprassion's soft. With a smile he presses his lips to her cheek and then tugs her in a circle of his arms, trying to keep River as close as possible. It results in a hug, which he doesn't comprehend at first, but still refuses to let go. 

River hugs him back, clinging to his shoulders and crumpling cardigan in her fingers. He covers her face and hair with kisses (just everywhere he can reach) and mumbles sweet nothings. Then they fall silent for a couple of minutes. "It wasn't your fault," the Doctor adds after, just to make sure. 

She slides away from his arms and runs a hand over her cheeks. "It wasn't yours either, my love," she replies.

He closes his eyes and hopes to run away somehow. But then opens them again, and River's still there right in front of him, covered in night shadows, and he owes her honesty. "I knew it would happen," he admits hoarsely. "That's what always happens. I left them and it could've saved them, but then I came back anyway. An old selfish idiot."

"My parents weren't stupid. They knew about the risk and still _chose_ to stay with you."

He looks past River's shoulder and misses Amy's fiery passion, and Rory's conclusions, and the red hair jokes (he still longs for that color silently). He misses picnics and his habit of using thier fairytale surname instead of the one that's carved on the gray gravestone. The real one.

"They loved you," she continues. "And they lived their lives the way they wanted it. Even if that didn't include us in the end."

It's funny how the words, which they found so easily for each other, have never worked as justification for themelves. River realises that, too, suddenly falling silent. 

"I still hate endings," the Doctor manages, "even though you're right."

She caresses his cheeck soothingly, moving closer to him, and he fights the urge to wrap around her and never, never let go. "Things end, sweetie. Unless nothing would start."

Memories of an inevitable end and that conversation of theirs on the balcony three days ago catch up with him. "Our twenty-four years," he starts, and she tenses immediately, "are you going to... stay?"

She laughs quietely, shaking off the worry, and leans closer. '"Where else would I be?"

He shortens the distance between them and kisses her, feeling her warm hands on his face. He's still trying to figure out where he prefers his hands while kissing, so his movements are a bit chaotic — just as when he kissed her for the first time, and lively and bright River Song for the first time was _his_ and he was hers. He touches her waist but it doesn't seem enough; buries fingers in her space hair, but qickly drops hands to her hips, squeezing them and tilting his head to be closer to her. He feels her smile with his lips and decides that any position is good as long as she enjoys it.

He drags River to his lap, making her giggle, and collects that laught with another kiss. She puts her hands above his hearts — quite right; they belong to her. When she pulls back and looks down at him with a tender smile, he decides that honest conversations are worth it. Pressing her to him with one arm, he reaches out to boop her nose. "Midnight breakfast, then?"

"We could have the dessert first," she arhes her eyebrow.

"Minx."

Her smile is wide. He cathes it with a kiss. When he pulls back this time, her cheeks are pink and breathing is audible. All thoughts narrow until it's just a ringing of her name in his ears. He's probably staring, because River breaks the moment and scoffs. "Is there something stuck in my hair?"

"No, it's just.." he waves his hand vaguely but then quickly puts it back on her waist, afraid she might fall. River's having the fun of her life eyeing him. "You just look amazing." 

He's barely an expert in outfits or makeup (apart from moments when a neckline of her dress has all of his attention, or when he waits for her, watching, curious, how she puts on lipstick or paints her nails). Appearance isn't something permanent for timelords, but the Doctor cherishes emotions, painted all over her face, and River looks happy, and, with a cherry on top, he just loves her.

She smiles, as if she could hear his thoughts, and is no longer laughing at him. Instead she leans for a new kiss, and he responds eagerly. River softly brings them into a horizontal position, her lips still on his, and he's sure it'll take a while to get to the kitchen.


End file.
